never let them go
by crimson and bare
Summary: - "Sometimes I barely remember my parents." - Together in the Air Temple after the fiasco at Sato manor, Mako and Asami have a heart to heart about those they lost. Oneshot.


Asami feels helpless.

She's never experienced a sensation of that kind before, but it crept up on her in a dark hour. And now all she can do is stand in her bedroom on Air Temple Island and stare at the city. The moon is round and full, glistening over Republic City. It casts beams of light through sparse clouds and onto the metal buildings on the horizon.

It's hot. She can't stand it.

Wringing the sweat out of her hair, she hears footsteps behind her. She turns around to see Mako and blushes slightly. She truly hopes he didn't notice her doing something that embarrassing. Then again, he lived with Bolin—the king of embarrassing, impolite actions.

"Hi," she says and he purses his lips for a moment. No one will talk to her about it. No one will mention her father. Honestly, that exacerbates the entire ordeal, and the pain she suffers.

"Hey." Mako sits down on her bed, fiddling with his scarf.

There is a long, gravid pause.

"Just say it, will you?" Asami snaps, surprised at her own vehemence.

He stares at her for a moment before frowning. She does care for Mako, but his brooding gets exhausting, especially when she's on edge like this. The discomfort lasts for several more seconds, until Asami sighs and sits down on the windowsill. The gentle breath of a breeze tickles her back.

"Look, you have every right to be angry, or hurt or whatever you are about—" Mako begins but she cuts him off with a steely glare from her almond eyes.

"I don't feel anything, Mako. That's what bothers me most. Doesn't he know that I lost her too?" Her voice cracks slightly on the last word.

The silence deafens.

Mako sighs eventually and touches his scarf. He looks at her, the same loving, engrossed expression in them. She can't help but slip away from the window and sit beside him. Their hands meet and finally clasp. She leans in to kiss him gently, but he sets his finger to her lips.

"Sometimes I barely remember my parents," he says quietly, seeming wistful.

Asami is startled. They've mentioned her mother and his parents in passing before—as they met similar fates—but he never seemed so broken by it. She squeezes his hand in response.

"I feel the same way," Asami says softly, leaning in closer to him. "I see my mother every time I look in the mirror, but sometimes I can't recall the sound of her voice, or how her touch felt, or what it was like when she'd force me to brush my hair. I always got it so tangled riding around the place, and I would prefer to be listening to pro-bending on the radio than waste time combing and primping in those days."

She laughs a hollow laugh. It only hurts when she tries so hard to remember, but can only scrounged for a few memories. They're fragmented at best.

"I wish I could've known her if she was anything like you," Mako says, attempting a smile. "My mother was beautiful. People lined up to marry her, according to my dad. I'm not sure if he was exaggerating. They used to joke about it. I was very young when they died. I still remember... I still remember seeing it happen."

"I do too," Asami breathes, thinking of her own mother. "Sometimes all I can remember is her screaming."

Mako draws her in closer to him. Asami feels a slight shiver, even in the heat of the sweltering night. It's funny how what was caused by fire makes her feel so cold.

"I wish I had treated her better, Mako," she whispers, feeling humbled by her own stupidity. "I think I took her for granted."

"I know the feeling," Mako says and she clings onto him.

She leans her head on his shoulder.

"Do you remember any happy things about them?" she suggests, closing her eyes. She loves the way he smells.

Mako hesitates for a moment.

"Did I ever tell you how I got this scarf?" he asks and she shakes her head, her cheek rubbing against his muscled chest. "I was seven. My father always wore it everywhere. He was a firebender; my mother was an earthbender. It was an heirloom back from the Fire Nation. His family came over to the colonies in the One Hundred Years War. Anyway, that's beside the point. I would always steal it from him. I would wear it and pretend to be a world traveling bender." Mako chuckles slightly and she smiles weakly. "One day, he told me he was done scolding me for taking it and that I could have it. I was ecstatic. I never took it off."

Asami nuzzles her forehead against him.

"I have my mother's old hairbrush. It's from the Fire Nation too. My family traces back there. It's so pretty. It has the royal family emblem on it. I used to have an old dress of hers. I would wear it. My father took it away when I got older. It made him sad." The conversation dies for a moment when her father surfaces. She curses at herself in her mind for letting it spill out.

Mako rubs her back.

"I think they're still here. Even when we're alone they kind of linger until they find us," he says, quite profoundly.

"Do you think she forgives me?" Asami whispers, suddenly the worst of her memories pouring from her heart. "I fought with her only hours before the firebending radicals killed her. I called her so many mean names. And then, before I could apologize, she was gone."

She swallows, not wanting to be seen crying. Asami is a tough street racer—she can't bear to let tears slip.

"How could she not?" is Mako's response. "She's your mother."

"She was amazing," Asami breathes.

"Let's never let them go," he says, about both of their parents. "Your father too, Asami. He did it out of love."

"I know." She's getting kind of choked up. "Never let them go."

He kisses her now, engulfing her in his affection. She hugs him.

They hold each other for the longest time, both wondering what those they lost would think of them now.

Because they'll never let them go.


End file.
